Shey is in that lovely age between baby and boy. This morning he cried and whined for 10 minutes for me to help him get dressed even though he is capable of doing it himself. The thing is, I probably would have helped him should he have asked correctly rather than screaching at me like a banchee child. As I dried my hair, he sat on the floor of the bathroom and carried on about his toe, his leg, his arm hurting. And then, just like that, he was over it. He stopped crying, asked me nicely to help him up and then got dressed.
The patience, it is wearing thin. I've been trying so hard lately to put myself in their shoes, but when I signed up for parenting, this is not what I bargained for.
And I swear they take turned irritating me. Shey was fine the whole way to school and then Peyton starts in. He's working on differentiating between weeks and months, but it just hasn't stuck. So this morning, we were talking about summer and how next summer he will be out of school as well and then he says something about two weeks of school have gone by. He stops after that and starts to correct himself and asks me what's it called? Monday through Friday. I tell him a week. He says, rather snottily, no, that doesn't make any sense . . .two weeks. I said, yes, Monday through Friday is a week. Oh, you would have thought I told him I was cutting his leg off, he carried on and kicked the seat. I tried to reason with him and ask him to help me out and I would help him with the word he wanted, but he thinks I can read his mind. It ended up week was the right word.
I just can't believe the "you don't know anything" attitude is starting already.